


See A Man About A Dog

by pornographicrainbowlegs



Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alcohol, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bad Puns, Bro Bros, Canon-Typical Violence, Clint Barton & Kate Bishop Friendship, Fursuits, HOH!Clint, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-17 03:06:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11266656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pornographicrainbowlegs/pseuds/pornographicrainbowlegs
Summary: Clint Barton is hiring. Enter James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes, handyman extraordinaire. Or so he says... Clint is skeptical, but willing to be impressed.Luke's is a good first date, isn't it? Especially if it ends in blowjobs and cold pizza, right? And being shot at is a good second date! .... Right?Everything was going great until the mob arrived.





	See A Man About A Dog

**Author's Note:**

> As always, there's more to a story than the author.
> 
> First I'd love to thank my fantastic artist, [pathulu](https://pathulu.tumblr.com/). The art [(which can be found here!)](https://pathulu.tumblr.com/post/162216789457/title-see-a-man-about-a-dog-author) was my favorite the instant I saw it in the claims spreadsheet. From what I remember, there were over 200+ artists and the competition for claims were within _seconds_. I couldn't be happier with my claim. I hope the story does it justice!
> 
> Then my beta, [Cleveland](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleveland). As always, he's done a fantastic job of keeping me on task and focused enough to make something I'm proud of.
> 
> And finally, the [Captain America Reverse Bang mods](https://capreversebb.tumblr.com/) for putting this challenge on! Modding is a hard job and their work is always appreciated!
> 
> Thanks to all of you!

If Captain America was there, he would have probably frowned on using black money to buy out another thief’s property. Thank god he was off somewhere in Sokovia and Clint didn’t have to be the recipient of Cap’s disapproving face.

Was it even Sokovia?

Whatever. It’s not Clint’s job to watch after the hero, but it would be nice if he sent a postcard once in awhile.

Still, the point is Steve Rogers was not there when Clint signed over twelve-point-five _million_ dollars for the apartment complex in Bed Stuy. Most of the money was ill-gotten from robbing the thieves running their Cirque De Scam at Hotel Metropol. The rest was supplemented by Kate Bishop. Clint’s paycheck from the Avengers is cushy, but it’s the kind of cushy that pays for extra cheese on his pizza or a triple-shot macchiato. Not that Clint would order a triple-shot macchiato in the first place. He drinks his coffee black, and usually straight out of the pot because he’d be hard pressed to find a clean mug.

But at least he doesn’t drink his orange juice straight from the carton, _Sam Wilson_.

Clint doesn’t regret his purchase - it was the right thing to do, and heroes do the right thing. But between his mostly-full-time job as a hero and trying to keep up with real life (and Dog Cops), he doesn’t have a lot of time to play property manager and handyman for his residents. Which means that when Simone has a backed up sink while Clint’s off in Budapest, he’ll get a bill for $402.32 because plumbing disasters always happen at 11 PM on a Sunday.

Which brings him to placing an ad on Craigslist for a handyman.

“What are your qualifications?” he asks the man in front of him, trying not to stare at the silver hand poking out of his sleeve. According to his email signature, his name is James Barnes. Clint isn’t convinced the name is not an alias.

“Nothing formal,” James shrugs.

The exact qualifications Clint’s looking for are “available and semi-competent”, so having nothing formal won’t get Mr. Barnes thrown out of Clint’s office. Besides, Clint can’t really afford formal. Formal is what got him the $78.19 dollar repair for the washing machine’s loose water pipe and the $284.12 invoice for the clogged furnace filter.

But without formal education, the question about how to test James’ knowledge of general repairman qualities is limited. He did provide a list of references, but SHIELD taught Clint to use fakes, and since James’ alias status is in question, there's no convenient way to know for sure. Unless ...

“How about a practical exam?” Clint offers.

James raises his eyebrow, indicating interest.

“I’ve got a leaky faucet, a hole in the wall, and a squeaky hinge. If you can fix them, job’s yours.”

“You want free labor?” James asks.

“Not if you actually fix my problems,” Clint says. “You interested or wasting my time?”

James shakes his head and stands out of his chair, brushing at invisible dust on his thighs. “Lead the way,” he gestures to Clint’s office door.

Clint steps forward and out of the office, James close on his tail, down the hall and up the stairs to the second floor fire door. “Here,” Clint gestures, “that’s the squeaky door. Do you need me to stupid-vise?”

“If you show me the rest, I can expedite my resources,” James says, bored with a slight but still noticeable eye roll.

Clint’s eyes widen, surprised to be talked to with such sass. He deserved it, yes, but deserving and receiving are separated by a wide margin. It takes a lot of cojones to be so cheeky with your potential employer within an hour of meeting. James reminds Clint a lot of how he met and ultimately agreed to train Kate.

And while admiring Kate’s physique makes Clint feel like a lecherous old man, he’s not ignorant of her good looks. He has significantly less qualms about admiring James’ appearance. And he almost regrets moving to show his candidate the rest of the problems to allow for expedition, because he won’t be able to watch while James bends over and sweats.

“I’ll be in my office,” Clint promises James after showing him the faucet and hole in the wall.

Except Clint doesn’t want to be in his office. His office is just inside the main entrance of the building and it’s small and sunny and doesn’t have his DVR with Dog Cops. But he really should catch up on all the paperwork that comes with owning an apartment building. And what better time to do that then while waiting for the repairman to show off.

Which in the long run will be better than waiting for the repairman to show _up_. But that’s semantics and wishful thinking all rolled up into a neat little package of hoping James Barnes is his successful candidate so he doesn’t have to keep looking. Hiring people is hard work.

Long enough later that Clint’s sufficiently wrapped up in his paperwork and forgotten entirely about the repairman prowling about his apartment building, a knock on the doorframe startles him.

“Yes?”

“You don’t happen to have either an extra gallon of that paint or a swatch for the color, do you?” James asks.

Clint shrugs. The question was as good as rhetorical.

“Well, job’s done except for maybe another layer of putty and some paint, and probably should dry for a few more hours anyway,” James says.

“Okay, show me,” Clint says, standing from behind his desk.

He follows James first to the sink which no longer leaks and the door that no longer squeaks. He’d almost walk past the hole in the wall if it weren’t sticking out like a sore thumb because the putty isn’t the same color as the wall.

Clint checks his watch. “Would you like to discuss contract details over a beer?” he offers. “Luke’s is just down the street. ”

There’s not a lot of contract details to discuss. Clint plans to pay supplies, a decent retainer, and offer the spare bedroom that he’s currently using as a storage room. It’s not a great offer, but he would really prefer not to raise rent for his tenants, which means there’s not a lot left over after paying the bank and Kate. He’s hoping drinks and maybe dinner will help sweeten the deal.

“So James,” Clint starts once both of them have their beers - Clint with his Guinness and James with his Spotted Cow.

“Call me Bucky,” James says, lifting the brown bottle to his lips and sealing them around the rim. After a generous swig, “Can’t stand being called James by anyone who knows me.”

Clint can respect that. All his teachers referring to him as “Clinton” on the first day of school used to be enough to scratch a thousand chalkboards. “Okay, Bucky then,” Clint says, just as the waitress comes over.

“Y’all decided?” she asks, chawing her gum.

Bucky passes his menu to her while saying, “The Texas Squealer, rare, please.”

The waitress writes it down and confirms if Bucky wants fries or to upgrade to onion rings, which he does, before turning to Clint for his order.

“Doozie of a Floozie,” Clint recites, tracing his finger under the item title so he doesn’t lose his place. He hates ordering menu items with ridiculous names, but he makes an exception for this one. Firstly because there’s not a common way to ask for this type of burger - not like having to ask for Chick’n Lil’s to get processed chick shaped chicken nuggets. And second, this burger is worth the embarrassing name.

“Topless?” the waitress asks.

“Please,” Clint requests. “And I’d also like to upgrade to onion rings.”

“Okay, that’ll be up soon,” she says, folding their menus under her arm and clicking her pen closed.

“You like egg on your burger?” Bucky asks, scandalized.

“Didn’t realize that was so controversial,” Clint shrugs. “You ever had it before?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Eggs are for breakfast,” he insists.

“So you won’t eat them in a box? Or with a fox, or in your socks?” Clint asks. That gets a chuckle out of Bucky, which is what Clint was going for so he counts it as a win even though he had to stoop to a children’s reference to make a joke.

“How d’ya like your eggs in the morning?” Bucky asks.

Clint just about chokes on his Guinness. “Bucky Barnes, you flirt!” he teases. “I may enjoy a good burger bearing the name, but I’m no floozie!”

“Coulda fooled me,” Bucky winks, sipping from his beer bottle with way more class than a beer from Wisconsin deserves.

Oh god what did he just do? Clint awkwardly sits a little straighter and grabs at his glass of Guinness to take an uncoordinated sip, splashing some over his upper lip and licking it off uncomfortably. Bucky leers at him from across the table, but the devious ogle backs off marginally when Clint doesn’t reciprocate. “Sorry,” Clint eventually apologizes. “I’d uh, hate to start an HR incident before you officially have the job.”

“That’s a good eggs-cuse,” Bucky says.

Clint looks up from his beer at Bucky. He doesn’t look put off at the let down, so Clint figures they’re back on good terms and decides to play along with the pun-off. “That wasn’t a yolk,” Clint complains.

“It’s good to eggs-ercise caution in these situations.”

“That’s a terrible pun, but omelet it slide.”

“I’m scrambling to come up with something else.”

“I have a dozen more where that came from.”

“This is eggs-tremely satisfying.”

“Egg puns crack me up,” the waitress deadpans, standing directly next to the table, having snuck up on them. Both Bucky and Clint sit up straight to give her room to set their hot plates down. “Another round?” she asks.

“Please,” Clint asks, relieved at the interruption so he doesn’t have to think of another egg pun. He had been running low on ammo but didn’t want to admit defeat. He raises an eyebrow at Bucky, inquiring about his situation.

Bucky shakes his bottle, the dregs splash against the glass. He nods at the waitress before she takes off back to the bar.

They both tuck in with the finesse of a first date, which Clint tries to ignore. Bucky is probably only being so respectful because he hasn’t signed any papers guaranteeing him the job yet. He’s merely trying to impress Clint as a perfunctory measure. Still, the first few minutes after their food is delivered is silent while they stuff their faces in a dignified fashion.

Then the waitress drops off their beers and Clint can’t take the silence anymore. “So, how’d you get Bucky for a nickname?”

“Middle name’s Buchanan,” Bucky shrugs.

Clint cocks his eyebrow but doesn’t question further. He’s almost rethinking if James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes is even an alias at all. It sounds almost ridiculous enough to be real, which just adds to the credibility of the fake.

It had been appropriately dinner time when they’d arrived at Luke’s hours ago. Clint hadn’t meant to let it happen, but somehow conversation never actually got back to Bucky’s contract. Somehow two beers turned into five which turned into ten which turned into the two of them stumbling back the few blocks to Clint’s apartment building and up the stairs into his actual apartment and into the foyer where Bucky has pinned Clint to the doorframe.

Clint can’t even properly think far enough ahead to regret his choices. Depending how the night goes from here, he might be out a perfectly good handyman and have to start the hiring process over again. Or, he might have stumbled upon the greatest friends with benefits arrangement there ever was.

Bucky’s biting at Clint’s neck and has both Clint’s arms secured above his head. The metal arm is strong and warm, like a laptop that’s been left on in the sun for too long. Clint tugs against the restraining pressure. “Come on,” he whines. “Bedroom,” he draws out the “m” pathetically.

“So needy,” Bucky slurs, but lets up on the pin and leads them to the first closed door which isn’t the bedroom Clint’s too late to warn him.

“Closet,” Clint giggles out after some arrows from his quivver fall to the floor, spilled from where they were leaning precariously amongst all the other clutter he can’t be assed to clean up.

Clint switches the grip Bucky has on his arm and takes to lead them down the hall to his actual bedroom while Bucky complains behind him.

“Who keeps their weapons in the front closet?” Bucky’s rattling on. “That’s so inefficient and useless in a true emergency. You really -oof!”

Clint cuts Bucky off with his mouth, colliding harshly with Bucky’s teeth. “Ow!” he hisses a moment later, jerking away and then dabbing his lip with his finger and pulling it away to check for blood. “You bit me!”

“You attacked me, I retaliated,” Bucky corrects.

“I’ll show you retaliation,” Clint says, then shoves Bucky’s chest ferociously, causing him to lose balance and land awkwardly on the bed behind him. Clint climbs on top of him, straddling Bucky’s hips with his knees. He yanks Bucky’s shirt up, drawing Bucky’s body closer so they can kiss with the same savage passion that only looks good on the silver screen.

Clint can taste his own blood, but it’s fading the more his tongue dances with Bucky’s. He’s even getting into it, grinding his hips against Bucky’s and moaning desperately until suddenly Bucky’s pushing him away.

“Whoa - wait, what- Stop!” Bucky demands, pushing Clint up so he has to sit back on his heels.

“What?” Clint asks, looking down at Bucky, embarrassed and self conscious now that the passion isn’t so urgent.

“What is that?” Bucky asks, pointing at Clint’s disaster. Specifically the disaster of a closet that’s slowly taking over the room, like a mold.

“My bad habits?” Clint offers. “It’s just a messy bedroom. What? Can’t get it up unless I hang my shirts?”

“No,” Bucky shakes his head violently. “That,” he says more emphatically and pointing at one thing in particular.

 _That_ , as Bucky so eloquently put it, would be the mascot Lucky from Lucky’s Pizza that Clint worked at for half a summer. He’d walked out of the job while still in uniform and refused to return it. He just never ended up throwing it away for various reasons. They’d docked his final paycheck for the cost of a replacement.

“Old work uniform,” Clint shrugs like he isn’t flustered at the reminder of what he’d done for free pizza and hot wings.

Bucky reaches up to turn Clint’s head towards him, sliding his fingers up to grip Clint’s hair. His lips are in a quirk of a smile, his eyes squinting up a little, flickering between Clint’s lips and his eyes. He leans up, and pulls Clint down by his hair until their lips are almost met. Then he whispers, “Wanna do it doggie style?”

Clint loses it. Not that he had much of it to begin with, being several sheets to the wind and all. But he can feel Bucky’s chest bouncing under his own hands as they both heave with cackles at the, truthfully, subpar joke.

Bucky recovers well before Clint and begins to kiss along Clint’s jaw. Then he’s guiding Clint to kneel higher as he kisses down Clint’s chest, using his fingers to pull the hem of Clint’s shirt up to reveal his abs. They’re not diamond cut, but Bucky is able to trace his tongue along the individual seams of his abs. Clint’s hands reach to his fly, undoing the button and zipper but going no further, waiting for Bucky to make his own decision if he’d like to take it to the next level.

Bucky’s hands move from holding Clint’s shirt up to gently peel Clint’s boxers down until his dick releases from the elastic. Bucky’s palms smooth across to the backs of Clint’s thighs as he directs Clint to move forward, allowing his cock to breach Bucky’s hot, wet mouth.

Clint’s chuckles abruptly shift to moans, the awkward change in noises making him slightly embarrassed. But he promptly forgets to be self conscious as Bucky swirls his tongue and creates suction with his cheeks while he bobs his head, nose buried in Clint’s pubic hair. 

Unsure what to do with his hands, Clint cards them through Bucky’s hair. His fingers become tangled, mostly due to his own drunken coordination than Bucky’s hair being ruffled. He tries not to push Bucky to blow faster or slower, only intending to massage and pull lightly on the strands of Bucky’s beautiful, soft hair. He scratches his nails along Bucky’s scalp, eliciting hums of varying intensity from Bucky, which feels fantastic on his dick resting on Bucky’s tongue.

“You planning to get me off like this?” Clint asks after a while, “Cuz if you wanna fuck maybe we should switch it up a bit or I won’t be able to get it up again so fast.”

Bucky licks and suctions off Clint’s dick. He’s trying to be sensual, but his teeth catch and Clint has to tense up and cringe. Light as they were, teeth on a dick is not a sensation Clint enjoys.

As Bucky pulls all the way off, he wipes his lips and chin with his flesh and blood arm. Then he smiles greedily up at Clint as he reaches for the hem of Clint’s shirt, pushing it upwards in clear request for it to be removed.

Clint takes the hem of his shirt and pulls it off inside out over his head, tossing it in the general region of his overflowing laundry basket. He’s somewhat disoriented after the too-quick motions, so when he shifts his weight and takes a backward step off the bed, he stumbles and has to catch at Bucky to steady himself. He tries to save face by leaning in to kiss Bucky, but misses his mouth and his lips catch the other man’s nose.

He gives up on any face saving and goes back to his original task, to pull his pants and boxers the rest of the way off. “You too,” he says to Bucky when the other man justs seems to be watching the show and not returning the gesture.

Bucky reaches towards his fly, unfastening his pants with fumbling fingers and then lifting his hips to push them off so they pool around his boots. He then toes at his boots forcefully and kicks his semi-stuck legs, trying to get them off. But the pile of clothing stuck until Clint takes pity and pulls the cuffs of Bucky’s pants away from his body with relative ease.

Clint’s mouth waters at the sight of Bucky’s hard cock, head slick with precome and intimidatingly large. Clint wants to suck it just to prove a point to himself. While Clint’s eyes are focused on Bucky’s dick, the other man pulls his shirt off, catching Clint’s attention up and away unexpectedly on the scar tissue surrounding the area where the metal meets the flesh.

Clint will not ask about it. Aside from the noticeable way Bucky flinches when Clint’s eyes catch, he knows exactly how awkward it is when someone asks about his own disability. Hearing aids have gotten significantly smaller over the years, especially when Tony Stark is an acquaintance. But he still remembers when his big, bulky hearing aids were everyone’s business and rude curiosity.

Instead, he forces his head down to look at his original target. He kneels in front of Bucky and licks tiny, teasing paths along the underside of Bucky’s cock.

One thing Clint prides himself on is how well he sucks a cock. Not to brag, but he’s had many men strung to the point of incoherence while his mouth is attached to their most precious of members. And Bucky, so far, is not an exception.

It isn’t too much after Clint’s got his whole mouth licking and suctioning along Bucky’s cock before Bucky’s hands (note the plural) are clenched in Clint’s hair. All of Clint’s scalp is a significant erogenous zone, so he does not complain when the locks of hair tangled between Bucky’s fingers pull and yank and twist.

Quiet moans and harsh breaths spout from deep in Bucky’s chest, which is glistening with sweat. When Clint looks up, eyes smouldering and sultry, he can see just how drunk with pleasure (and alcohol) Bucky is. His eyes are blissed out and pupils are blown so wide, Clint can no longer see any of the beautiful pigment in his irises.

But he isn’t asking Clint to slow or stop, and Clint likes Bucky’s cock. A lot. His hand drifts to grip his own cock, still slightly slick from Bucky’s spit.

Clint doesn’t know if he’d ever turn down a blow job, and Bucky did fantastic, but there’s something about pressing his own buttons that gives him instant jelly legs. Between Bucky’s cock in his mouth and his own in his hand, he’s just about over the edge when Bucky grips his hair tight and pulls Clint down.

Bucky spasms, both with pleasure and panic. He near-instantly releases Clint’s hair and Clint backs off a little - so as to not choke - but remains suctioned to Bucky’s cock while the other man comes. Bucky’s moans grow in volume as he releases all over Clint’s mouth, filling it so much Clint can’t help but let some dribble and drip down his chin while he tries to swallow as much as he can.

Clint’s hand speeds up, his wrist rolling and twisting just right as he impatiently comes to his own orgasm while swallowing around Bucky.

“Sorry, sorry,” Bucky whispers as he comes down.

Clint pulls off Bucky’s cock and wipes his chin with the back of his wrist. He shakes his head, “Nah. What’s some choking on cock between friends?”

Bucky bursts into awkward chuckles. “Want me to choke on your cock again?” he asks.

Clint raises his come covered hand in response. “My hand beat you to it,” he says.

Bucky laughs, and watches Clint awkwardly for a moment. Neither of them make moves to make the situation less gawky, so Clint says something about being thirsty before wiping his jizz on his bed sheets and standing to walk naked into the kitchen.

He has the grace of a toddler, shouldering into the doorframe and stubbing his toe where the carpet changes to tile. The alcohol from dinner is still sticking around. Some orange juice and cold pizza will help the hangover he’ll likely have in the morning. He pulls the box and carton from the fridge.

Clint catches Bucky hovering in the doorway. He’s naked, like Clint, but he keeps glancing at the door to Clint’s apartment, like he’s unsure how long his welcome will last. Clint reassures him by offering out the pizza box. “Cold pizza?” he asks.

“My favorite,” Bucky declares, stepping forward.

He takes a slice and bites off the tip, carefully holding the floppy piece in his fingers with both hands. Clint can tell by his face that the pizza is okay, at best. But it’s rare for someone to turn down pizza, especially after a night of drinking. Which, as long as they’re still awake, what’s wrong with another?

Clint pulls a bottle out of the fridge, holding it in Bucky’s direction. Bucky shrugs, which Clint takes to mean yes so he pulls a second one out for himself. 

“Where’d’ya order your pizza from?” Bucky asks.

The fight for who makes the best pizza in New York City has got to be up there with the soda versus pop argument. It’s the kind of fight that everyone has an opinion on, but there can never be a true winner. So Clint goes as neutral as he can. “Man, if it’s good, fast, or cheap, I’ll eat it.”

Bucky’s face curls into a smile. “Okay, then what’s the best pizza you’ve ever eaten?”

“Lucky’s,” Clint says without hesitation. “They’re closed now, but they used to have the best pizza. Maybe it was so good because it came with a five finger discount.”

“Worked there?” Bucky asks, mouth full of another bite of pizza.

“That’s where the dog uniform is from,” Clint explains.

“Why’d’ya keep it?” Bucky asks, then his eyes widen. “Wait, you’re not a furry are you?”

Clint smiles and shakes his head no. “Nah, dude. It’s like wearing footie pajamas in the winter. In the summer it’s like footie pajamas that smell like ballsack.”

“That’s brilliant. I haven’t worn footie pajamas since I was at summer camp that one year,” Bucky admits. “Or a uniform that wasn’t military,” he adds as an afterthought.

“Would you like to try?” Clint offers. Sure, he just admitted his laundry smells like ballsack, but when a dude asks another dude to smell something gross, the other dude typically scoffs and claims they’ve smelled grosser.

“I’d be honored,” Bucky jokes, but stuffs the last bite of his pizza in his mouth and walks back to Clint’s bedroom.

Clint follows behind, beer tipped into his mouth as he drinks and walks. Surprisingly, this skillset was easier to master than walking while chewing gum.

When Clint arrives at his bedroom, Bucky’s already halfway into the suit. The zipper goes up the front and stops just under the jaw of the dog head.. The head is one solid piece but is made of foam so it’s light, unlike Mickey Mouse’s head or some of those sports team mascots.

“Majestic,” Clint proclaims as he rests his shoulder on the doorframe. He misses initially, but he thinks he covers well enough that Bucky doesn’t notice.

“It’s so soft,” Bucky says in wonder, rubbing his hands down his stomach and thighs. “How do you not just sleep in this every night?”

“Ballsack smell, mostly,” Clint shrugs. “But it’s covered pretty well with Febreze so you’re probably fine.”

As expected, Bucky pulls the cloth up and takes a good whiff. “Eh, I’ve smelled worse.”

After marveling at how comfortable the fursuit is, Clint suggests they watch some TV. Bucky keeps the suit on, and Clint finds a pair of (probably unwashed) boxers. They settle on the couch, beers in hand and pizza box on the coffee table, to watch Dog Cops. It’s a rerun, but Clint prefers it that way so they don’t talk over the new bits and miss them.

The next thing Clint knows, the infomercial about the Slap Chop is playing quietly. Bucky’s curled up on the couch, his beer having fallen empty to the rug below.

Clint doesn’t bother cleaning up, but he does move from his seat on the couch to his bed which is much more comfortable and passes out once more.

* * *

“Clint,” Kate says from his bedroom doorway, mirrored sunglasses tipped down her nose and arms crossed to let him know she’s Not Happy. “Why is there a furry on your couch?”

“A what?” Clint asks, tongue scraping like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth and tasting like cat shit.

“A _furry_ , Clint, _Jesus_!” Kate screams, irritating Clint’s eardrums.

Which, fuck, he slept with his hearing aids in again. “Don’t judge my lifestyle, Kate,” Clint whines, turning over and putting a pillow over his head.

“I’m not a furry,” Bucky says from the couch.

“If the fursuit fits,” Kate says sassily.

Before Bucky can open his mouth with an appropriate retort to Kate’s bait, Clint cuts him off. “Where’s the cat?”

“What cat? Clint, you don’t have a cat,” Kate says.

“Then it must have been an alley cat that shit in my mouth,” Clint reasons.

“You’re disgusting,” Kate declares.

Bucky grumbles, and Clint can hear the couch rustling as he moves. “When I find that cat, I’m gonna skin it,” Bucky corroborates.

“Amended: you’re both disgusting,” Kate affirms.

Bucky stands and walks the distance between himself and Kate. As he gets closer, her eyes scan him openly as a threat. He reaches her with his hand out to shake. “I’m Bucky, and this isn’t my normal attire. I’m the new… maintenance manager? At least I think,” he ends by looking at Clint. “I didn’t fuck that job up last night did I?”

“Nah,” Clint confirms. “You’re hired.”

“Thanks boss,” Bucky says. “Anyway, I’m Bucky,” he says as he thrusts his hand that Kate still hasn’t taken.

“Kate,” she finally answers, returning the handshake.

“What are you even doing here anyway, Kate?” Clint asks, rolling out of bed. He walks to the living room first and looks in the pizza box. Empty. Great. Now what will he have for breakfast?

“I’m just here to get my shoes and then I’m gone,” she says, using the hand that just shook Bucky’s to tip her sunglasses properly on her nose. She shoves past Bucky, eying up the couch he just vacated. She pushes the couch a foot to the right and lifts a shirt Clint forgot was under there to reveal her shoes. They’re strappy and purple and go perfectly with her outfit. “I’ll leave you weirdos to whatever this is,” she says as she tosses her original shoes over her shoulder and puts the new ones on, without pause, as she walks out the door.

After a moment, Clint realizes that both he and Bucky are just staring after the whirlwind that was Kate Bishop. He feels he needs to explain to Bucky, but there’s very little he feels he can express that would accurately describe Kate and all that implies. “That was my friend Kate,” he starts. “She’s always at that level of disapproving, and that’s what I appreciates about her.”

He turns to smile at Bucky, who reaches down to scratch his ass.

“Yeah, I should probably have that dry cleaned,” Clint observes.

Bucky takes in a big sniff. “The smell of old pizza and ball sweat is getting hard to ignore,” Bucky grimaces.

The thing about gunshots is they’re really loud. Even someone who has never heard a gunshot can usually recognize the noise. Both Bucky and Clint flinch as they hear a boom, followed by the crash of the window glass shattering. Clint can hear the whiz of the air displacement as the bullet lodges itself in the wall behind him. The distance between all of the sounds is so instantaneous that it’s only after they’ve all reverberated out that Clint even realizes they were separate events.

Clint instantly dives towards his closet, still open from Bucky’s midnight mistake. He grabs his quiver and slides it on his back before grabbing his bow and then looking back at the shattered window.

“Your enemies or mine?” Bucky asks as he ducks his head out of the bedroom, pistol in hand. While they’d been gathering their respective weapons, several more shots have landed on the walls, furniture, and picture frames with varying success.

And where the hell did he get that pistol? Clint revisits alias James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes. “Who the hell are you?” he asks incredulously. He almost turns his bow on Bucky, but doesn’t when he realizes Bucky doesn’t have his gun aimed at Clint. At least for now, Bucky has decided they’re on the same side. Clint will take what he can get until this is over.

“Bucky. We’ve been through this. Keep up,” Bucky says, staring at the window intensely like that will help him see the enemy better. “Are they after you or me?” he asks again.

“The hell should I know!” Clint roars.

“It’s _your_ apartment!” Bucky shouts back as another bullet pierces into the doorframe he’s using as cover.

“ _Fine_!” Clint bellows, “Then we’ll just _assume_ that they’re after _me_ if that makes you feel better. Are you going to help me or not?”

“You have a bow and arrow,” Bucky says, like he’d only just realized. “I… Don’t you have a better weapon?”

“Arrows, plural, thank you very much,” Clint says, indignant and huffy at how short Bucky’s selling him.

“That doesn’t make it better,” Bucky says. “If you haven’t noticed, they’ve got us pinned and they don’t seem to be running out of ammo.”

“It does too make it better,” Clint argues. “Watch.”

Clint nocks his arrow, and waits to see where the next bullet bounces off his wall before taking aim and releasing. The whirr of the arrow next to his ear is quiet in comparison to a gun, much easier on his already sensitive ears. Still, it’s only a split second before the bad guy screams in anguish as the arrow hits true.

He smiles proud and cocky. “And I’ve got,” he pauses to count, “twelve more where that came from. Let’s see you, tough guy.”

“Ehh, bro,” comes a throaty taunt from the next building’s roof where the bad guys set up shop. “Is not cool, bro, we get you now, bro.”

“Shit, they’re definitely after me,” Clint says. “We need a strategy.”

“You had thirteen arrows?” Bucky asks, taking a conversational step back, which is highly unproductive. “We’re going to die.”

“Strategy,” Clint says firmly to reset them back to the most important topic at hand. “We need one. What’s the plan?”

“You’re asking me?” Bucky whispers, incensed.

Clint quirks an eye. “Yes?” he lilts like an obvious answer to the question. “Look, if you wanna just hide behind the doorframe, that’s fine. But I need to know what percent you’re into this so I can keep us, especially me, alive. Now are you gonna be brave enough to pick these Bros off or are you gonna hide behind some particle board?”

“Fibercore,” Bucky says.

“What?”

“Not particle board, fibercore,” he corrects.

“Whatever!” Clint shouts.

“Eh, bro? You sit like duck? We come get you,” the taunting voice mocks.

Clint gestures. “How many you got?”

“Ten,” Bucky says. “And I’m a good shot, but this weapon isn’t built for range. We need better position. We need to get to the roof.”

Unfortunately, life isn’t a movie and the vents are simply not big enough for either Bucky or Clint to climb up to the roof. So instead, they army crawl until they reach Clint’s front door, which is still unlocked from when Kate left five minutes ago. Bucky checks the hallway, aiming his gun like a trained professional, before giving the all clear and they both squeeze through.

There’s a window at the end of the hall that doesn’t have the staircase. Clint’s not sure how much of the building the Bro’s have surrounded, but at least they’ll make it to the stairway before having to worry too much.

His adrenaline is humming, keeping him focused as they scramble up the stairs two at a time. They reach the roof access door and wait. Neither one are especially out of breath, but when they open that door, there’s no going back.

“How do you want to play this?” Bucky asks.

Clint has never worked with Bucky before. Alias or no, he’s pretty sure he’d notice if his enemy or ally had a metal prosthetic arm. And so, unfortunately, he has to leave his hearing aids on. Gun shots are loud, and his ears with or without the hearing aids are very sensitive to loud noises. Between the two of them, they have twelve arrows and ten bullets. Clint expects a large handful of goons, but probably not twenty-two of them. They don’t have to have better than perfect accuracy, like Deadpool, but Bucky better be in the same book as Clint or they’re definitely up feces river without a steering device.

“Western style, we go out shooting. There can’t be that many, and we have the advantage of surprise since they probably aren’t sure that we’re here,” Clint proposes.

Bucky looks at him as though he’s grown two heads. “Aren’t you an Avenger?” he asks, but continues without waiting for Clint to give a real response, “This is why Captain America is the strategist, ya fuckin' bird brain. You’re gonna get us shot with that plan!”

“We don’t have the time to set up a sniper nest,” Clint reasons. “Which, by the way, was Plan A, but I’d seen the flaw before proposing. I get points for that!”

“This isn’t a kindergarten spelling bee, you don’t get points for not shitting yourself!” Bucky says. “Besides, I didn’t say we needed to make a sniper nest, but being a little stealthy, Mr. Bow-And-Arrow, usually goes a little smoother.”

Clint so wants to mock James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes with a douchey nickname retort, but his brain is too slow for the uptake. “Fine, we’ll do it your way,” he reasons.

“Thank you, I know how hard that was for you,” Bucky says. “I’ll take a peek. If we’re fucked, we can do your plan and bad western our asses six feet under. If we’re not, I’ll take point - “

“Excuse me, I’ll take point,” Clint asserts. “I totally shot someone through a window using like trigonometry or some shit. I _definitely_ get points for that trick shot.”

“So what do other people usually do when you sass them? Do you still have all your teeth or has some dentist put their kids through college with your mouth?”

“I’d have given you a way better blow job last night if I didn’t have my teeth,” Clint says.

“Point,” Bucky grudgingly announces.

“Yes!” Clint celebrates.

“So if we’re not fucked, you take point, and I hope this goes without saying, but don’t fucking miss.”

And with that, Bucky cracks the door to peek at their surroundings.

If Bucky is as good a tactician as Clint suspects he is, he’s probably come to the same conclusion as Clint. There’s likely one, maybe two, goons on the roof of Clint’s apartment building. The rest are most likely on the neighboring roofs, just guessing based off the direction of their shots. It’s only been a minute or two since they left Clint’s apartment and with only two choices - up or down - the Bros will figure out soon where to aim, or they’ll come in looking for them.

Which means Bucky and Clint will have to be efficient if they want to catch anyone, especially the guys on the roof, off guard.

The roof of Clint’s building has been renovated to be a sort of green space patio for his tenants. It’s not especially flashy, but he enjoys spending time up there in the garden that Simone and her kids maintain. And he especially loves Grills’ grilling. Their patio parties are a neighborhood affair. So when Bucky opens the door, it doesn’t squeak or creak or otherwise give them away.

Clint can’t see through Bucky and so has to wait for his hand signal, which comes a moment later. Bucky holds out just his index finger indicating there’s just one goon to fire at. Clint pulls an arrow from his quiver and readies it, not quite in full stance as he continues to watch Bucky’s hand direction. Goon must be distracted for how long Bucky’s been able to spy without being detected.

Then Bucky begins a slow countdown and Clint steadies himself, bow taut and arrow ready to fly. At zero, Bucky shoves hard at the door and Clint aims-fires. He hits true in his target - the guy’s kneecap. As part of the Avengers, he tries not to kill if he doesn’t have to. He saves his kill shots for SHIELD approved missions.

Kneecaps are painful, but non-fatal.

It’s obvious that the goon on the roof is the new guy. In his anguish, he throws his weapon and screams in horrific bursts of panic. Clint feels bad for him. While he’s never had a capped kneecap, he knows a few things about debilitating injuries.

“Is it still called capping if it’s an arrow and not a bullet?” Clint asks out loud. He’s used to having Coulson or Rodgers on the other side of his comm, but they usually tell him to keep the line clear for official communications only.

Clint nocks another arrow as he and Bucky step out of the protection the hallway gives them. As predicted, there was only the one goon on Clint’s immediate roof. Still, Clint does an efficient sweep of the surrounding roofs as the two cross the distance between the stairwell and the goon’s dropped weapon.

“Capping?” Bucky asks.

“You know, like bust a cap in your ass or some shit?” Clint elaborates. “Bust a cap in yo’ ass?” Clint tries out, unsure which would be the more legitimate usage.

“I don’t know,” Bucky shakes his head. “This is such a weird second date,” he says, reaching for the dropped weapon. He thumbs the safety and makes to stick the gun in the back of his pants, but stops. The dog onesie doesn’t have a holster. So he just sets the gun to his left.

“This is nothing. If we survive, wait for the third date,” Clint says.

Around them, the injured henchman is still screaming which is riling up the other Bros on Clint’s neighboring roofs, note the plural. The most concentrated number of Bros are on the roof that would overlook Clint’s apartment. Which makes sense given their target. However, they didn’t put all their eggs in one basket. There are a few scattered in other locations - two on another roof, three on some fire escapes, and two on the ground having anticipated Clint would head down instead of up.

After adding up their targets, they use the building for cover. It’s a necessary move as the Bros have now caught on, thanks to the fallen henchman’s screams, where their targets are located.

“Divide and conquer?” Clint suggests.

“Jesus, this really is a bad western,” Bucky laments.

In the distance, Clint can hear the wee-woos of some emergency vehicles. It’s unclear at this point if they’re going to be headed to this emergency or somewhere else. The buildings are tall and sounds echo.

“Saddle up, baby. Ready or not, off we ride!” Clint says. He pops up, aims, and releases in one swift motion. He’s not called Hawkeye for nothing, and his arrows hit true. He aims for damage, not death. Though he’d prefer Bucky do the same, he doesn’t especially care. These Bros have enough money and friends in low places which has caused them to be Clint’s problem for far too long.

Bucky takes longer to aim and shoot than Clint, but his accuracy is killer, even though his shots aren’t. It doesn’t take many downed goons before the rest of them start high tailing it to the roof access doors or scaling the fire exits to the street.

“That was almost anticlimactic,” Bucky whines.

“You want a climax?” Clint asks. He’s really asking for clarification. The constant ringing he always has gets louder after a firefight and makes it hard to distinguish sounds, especially language. His ears don’t always hear what they’re supposed to. Or is it his brain that doesn’t hear what it’s supposed to? Fuck, that’s too deep to parse.

Bucky quirks an eye at him, “You always got sex on the brain?”

“Clint Barton!” Kate screams.

Clint and Bucky both instinctively aim their weapons at the roof access door, then lower them almost as quick when they realize she’s a friendly. Kate Bishop is standing with one hand on her hip and the other holding a pink and blue monstrosity with a green straw.

“You and your lovesick puppy will get yourselves killed! You’re lucky I came back when I did. I intercepted a mobster downstairs with my shoe,” Kate shouts, more irritated and annoyed than upset or anxious.

Clint looks down at her feet, “Your shoe looks fine, what are you bitching at me for?”

“I almost spilled my drink!” she yells, holding it out and shaking it for inspection. “They’re limited time only!”

**Author's Note:**

> First, [The Ballad of Captain America's Disapproving Face](https://soundcloud.com/murder-ballads/the-ballad-of-captain-americas-disapproving-face-pre-release-draft). If you can spare three and a half minutes, you should. Second, if you have another three and a half minutes, please take yourself to [Fried or Fertilized](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6x-JVXkd8SQ).
> 
> [Luke's is definitely not down the street from Clint's apartment in Bed Stuy.](https://www.google.com/maps/dir/bed+stuy/manhattan/@40.7314695,-74.0453163,12z/data=!3m1!4b1!4m13!4m12!1m5!1m1!1s0x89c25c75b6a8b821:0xf3bc87276691ebdc!2m2!1d-73.9417735!2d40.6872176!1m5!1m1!1s0x89c2588f046ee661:0xa0b3281fcecc08c!2m2!1d-73.9712488!2d40.7830603) But this is fanfiction. We're allowed to bend universes.
> 
> Both [The Texas Squealer](http://www.food.com/recipe/the-texas-squealer-burger-146140) and [Doozie of a Floozie](http://www.food.com/recipe/a-doozie-of-a-floozie-burger-231245) are real burgers. Enjoy the recipes if you have that kind of talent!
> 
> And a reminder to check out [pathulu](https://pathulu.tumblr.com/)'s [art](https://pathulu.tumblr.com/post/162216789457/title-see-a-man-about-a-dog-author)!!!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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